


A Political Education

by Tel



Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-08
Updated: 2012-01-08
Packaged: 2017-10-29 04:43:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/315949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tel/pseuds/Tel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Minister Grishnov has always wanted to crash a certain Winterfair party. Now's his chance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Political Education

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Политвоспитание](https://archiveofourown.org/works/316315) by [jetta_e_rus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jetta_e_rus/pseuds/jetta_e_rus), [Tel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tel/pseuds/Tel)



> 2012 Russian Winter ficathon, for silent-gluk, on the prompt "something about Grishnov".

The floatcar drifted down the icy streets of Vorbarr Sultana, running silently above the traffic and beneath the roofs of the old three-story buildings. Not so long ago they'd needed sirens to get people out of the way. This was a much better solution, Minister Grishnov thought.

The elderly Imperial Auditor he was sharing the luxury floatcar with seemed less sanguine about the situation, glancing down nervously every so often as if he believed gravity was going to notice them any minute. General Wright, the head of the Ministry's military branch, was in the front of the floatcar watching the infrared sensors. They'd reached the desolate warehouse district by the old Sultana river port, and it was now just a matter of finding their destination.

It wouldn't be hard. Even without the IR, it was just a matter of following the trail of luxury groundcars.

"Target determined," the sergeant driving reported. "Lights out, going in silent."

"Guards?" Grishnov asked.

"None obviously posted outside. Looks like the building's very well-secured, though."

"Footprints?"

"Many, recent."

"Bring the entry teams down. We need to move fast."

Captain Negri was by nature a cruel and unfeeling man, Minister Grishnov reflected, and this was nowhere more apparent than in his tyrannical holiday policies. Uniformed ImpSec personnel were categorically forbidden from engaging in the usual Winterfair entertainments. Their duty was clear - to watch everyone else stagger around in a drunken stupor and arrest the most drunkenly indiscreet. It was a grim, thankless job, and prevented them from getting invited to most parties in the first place.

Only those who persevered sober through the entire month of holiday festivities were granted invitations to the exclusive Imperial Security gala on the seventh of the new year, to be cossetted by Negri's professional female entertainers and fed with confiscated delights from the larders of traitors. Negri, of course, would never deign to pay for his own booze. Despite their puritanical facade, the Horus faction was just as corrupt and depraved as any of their peers; they just hid it better.

He'd left his winter coat in the car, and the chill Vorbarr Sultana air had him rubbing his fingers together against the cold as he stared at the heavy steel door from out of vid range. Barred, unless he missed his guess. No newfangled electronic locks here for the Auditor to play with.

"Should we wait for somebody to leave?" a corporal asked.

Grishnov shook his head. Hell with that. "If you've got the other exit covered, blow the door," he said. "They're in there."

They moved in. A few seconds with the plasma cutter took care of the lock, and a kick from a steel-toed boot swung the door in with a loud bang. Inside, a sudden medley of music, shouting, and chaos could be heard. The half-armored Political Education entry team swung into position, flanking cold-eyed Lord Auditor Vorvandermeer as he stepped inside

Grishnov, the general, and the rest of the team followed at a prudent distance, hitting the main light panel to flood the dim warehouse with the glare of industrial-strength fluorescents. Braver than most cockroaches, the revelers stood their ground in blinking confusion and occasional terror. No shortage of guilty consciences here. There was no shortage of weapons either, but the ImpSec guards backed down at a sharp word from Negri.

He was pleased to see his careful choreography was being followed. At the Auditor's command, the men were directed at gunpoint to disarm themselves and sit in a line on the polished concrete floor. Even Negri was stopped in the process of approaching them and firmly forced to sit a quarter of the way down the line. The women, ignored, floated around the room in distressed swirls and shivered against the cold wind coming through the door.

He really had nothing against Negri's girls. They were a professional, hardworking breed and he'd probably slept with most of them by now. Most of the older ones were quite familiar and he grinned at Mary's icy glare. Everything in his life was a performance, sex no different. It especially entertained him to know who was watching, and frankly he had nothing to be ashamed of. And if he couldn't spin a story that'd send Negri chasing bad leads for months while half-drunk and all-naked he didn't deserve his job in the first place. He liked to know what ulterior motives his lovers had, and Negri was frankly too well-leashed to go after him without explicit authorization.

Of course, the same was true in reverse, and he was only here because his Emperor wanted to send a very pointed message to his personal security.

"Lena, if Minister Vorbataille gives you any more trouble you have my number," he mentioned, stopping at the open bar and pouring himself the fourth most expensive drink available. The real show was about to start, and he didn't want to miss it.

He wandered back to the line, admiring the decor as he did so. Unless he missed his guess, most of the year this place was an evidence storage warehouse. They'd dressed it up nicely, with decorations borrowed from the Residence that were unneeded until next year. The alcohol selection was excellent, as was the food - it was really a pity the miserable folks huddled on the floor couldn't enjoy any of it.

Lord Auditor Vorvandermeer read from his file, then snapped the folder shut and began hobbling along the line. Grishnov trailed him, making a mental note to get a personal copy of the raid video. All of them were very quiet, except a few too drunk to manage that. The Auditor directed certain individuals to go as he passed - most of them headed for the exits without a second glance at their less fortunate peers. It was a long line.

Negri's gaze pinned him as the Auditor approached. "Didn't get enough of this shit at Solstice?" he asked in a low voice.

"That was not my fucking fault," he said, nettled. Vorvandermeer ignored them both, pointing at the slim blond lieutenant next in line. "Go."

"Stay." Both he and Negri said it at the same time, and Vorvandermeer turned to raise an eyebrow. "He's the Emperor's secretary," Grishnov said. "He'll bring his own report." The Auditor gave them a cool nod and continued, beckoning Ezar's pet up to follow. After a glance at Negri the lieutenant reluctantly obeyed.

He looked... shellshocked. As if Ezar's favor was something without which his life as an ImpSec officer had no meaning. Well, it'd be a good lesson, Grishnov thought. It wasn't the first cycle of this game he and Negri had played through, and it wouldn't be the last.

A third of the way through the line they found their man. Grishnov confirmed the identification. The Auditor gave the order. General Wright performed the execution.

They walked out the door, leaving the corpse behind them.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Balance Adjustments (The Afterparty Remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/389815) by [Philomytha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Philomytha/pseuds/Philomytha)




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